


Unlaced

by opheliac_fairy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Discrimination, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliac_fairy/pseuds/opheliac_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With mental health in its prime and magic-using declared a mental illness, Merlin fears his life may end in the infamous Pendragon Asylum for the Mentally Ill. Merlin records the brutality and torment he both witnesses and experiences during his stay, along with the upstanding rebellion from the inmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface + Hospital Letter #1

✿

Preface

The year is 1858; mental health science is young and experimental, and tensions between mortals and magic users is in its prime. After countless wars and countless attempts at wiping out the other, using magic is declared a mental illness, and all magic users are encouraged to seek a cure.

By 1867, a drug is created, cutting off that magic-stimulating part of the brain. But it doesn’t end there – by 1879, magic using is dubbed dangerous to the public, and all magic users are to report to asylums, where they will be given the cure and kept hidden from society.

Now, in 2014, using magic is not only a thing of the past, but taboo, scorned by societal norms. Harbouring those who use magic is now a crime, scorned equally as being a magic user, and punishable by law.

✿

Hospital Letter #1

(Beginning from Merlin’s nonsense scribbles… – M)

…They trapped me in the back of a van. I could hear my mother scream to let me go, to let her go, and I began to cry. “Mum!” I cried, but they just told me to be quiet, and whacked my head with their big, meaty hands. I heard her scream out to me, “I love you Merlin, never forget that!” And I never would forget that. They shoved my face down so I could no longer see her, and closed the doors of the van. I scrambled up to my knees and looked out the windows of the doors. They were bending my mum over the police car, handcuffed and crying. I banged my fists on the door, yelling as loud as I could, “Mum! I love you! I’m sorry! Please forgive me!” But then we drove off.

We drove for a long time before we passed a tall set of iron gates, painted black over rusty patches. One set of gates, and then another, and a third, and then we stopped. There was a long pause, and then the doors to the back of the van opened, and they were pulling me out.

The Pendragon Asylum for the Mentally Ill was a large building, built in the Victorian ages and never made modern. It was painted and fixed up, made into a beautiful but old, incredibly large building, larger than an American mall I’d ever heard of. A tan, thin woman with curly brown hair led the men inside the building, opening the grand doors for us. A group of maids in uniform waited for us there.

“Welcome to the Pendragon Asylum for the Mentally Ill,” one of them said. Seeing me must have been a disappointment, as they all slouched. One or two of them sat down, another one or two of them took off their hats and sighed. “False alarm!” one cried. “It’s just another arrest.”

A series of butlers in suits and guards in stark white t-shirts and trousers appeared. One man grabbed me and pulled me away from my kidnappers, yelling, “Aye, we’ll take him.” The dark haired girl sighed and gestured for us to follow.

“Boss says we’re full,” she said in a tired voice, “So it’s off to the holding room.”

The holding room, I came to discover, was a sterile white room without a door. The only things in the room was a bed, and a rope hanging over it with a sign that read, “Pull to call nurse”. They sat me down in the bed and shoved a series of pills down my throat that made me tired and weak. I lay down and felt myself start to panic. But the room went dark, and the woman’s face vanished behind the darkness. And I was out.

I woke up an unconceivable amount of time later. There was no clock or window in the room, so I couldn’t tell what time of day it was. But I felt groggy and weary, and my limbs were heavy. Time passed, and the woman and a man in white with long hair and a beard came into the room. “Merlin Emrys?” she asked in a sweet voice, “My name is Gwen. We’re here to take care of you until you can get into Ward A. Do you understand?” She must’ve thought I was dumb, as she spoke very slowly as though she were talking to a child.

I tried to say I understood, but it came out lame and sleepy. But she just smiled and said, “Good! Feel free to rest up, Merlin, you’re going to need it.” They then left, and I was alone again.

More time passed, and they occasionally returned to shove more pills down my throat. I slept most of the time, and time eventually became a thing I couldn’t comprehend. Minutes, hours, days, they flew by me slowly, and I had no idea when it was anymore.

Eventually, Gwen and a group of men came in. Gwen smiled again and said, “It’s time to go to Ward A, Merlin!”

They grabbed me again, and I struggled as much as I could. I could only grab a pen and, feeling a strange compulsion to steal anything at all, I shoved it down my pants. Obviously, they did not take it back, as I’m writing this now.

They took me up to what must have been Ward A, up the stairs and to the right. People were there, staring at me in horror. Some looked worse than others, but they all looked bad, thin and boney with pale skin. Their hair all stuck up in odd directions, as if they hadn’t washed or brushed their hair in months, which they probably hadn’t. They tossed me into a room decorated with striped wallpaper and three bunk-beds. They sat me down on the bed, shoved more pills in my mouth, and I passed out again. When I woke up, I was alone, and the door was shut.

I don’t know what is convincing me to write this out, but I feel it may seriously come in handy, in case I ever get out of here. Maybe my story will shut this place down, or maybe it’ll convince someone to do some activist work. But mostly, I think I’m doing it because I’m afraid to forget. What am I afraid to forget? Could anyone ever forget getting abducted from their homes and shoved in a mental asylum?

I think, what with how many pills they’re giving me, the biggest question is, what will I remember?


	2. Hospital Letter #2

✿

Hospital Entry #2

I woke up to a loud bell. It must’ve been normal, as the people who I shared a room with (It is confirmed Merlin shared a room with nine people, despite there only being six beds. He neglects to mention this. – M) just got up and left the room. I followed them into a dining hall, where a large woman, who wasn’t wearing a hairnet or gloves like you’d think, served us tomato soup and moldy bread. We were watched even then, as we are all the time in the asylum.

After breakfast, we’re given our pills in a small plastic cup. We’re expected to swallow them dry, which is damn near impossible. I told them, I don’t need to take any pills, but they said I did. I asked what pills they were, and they said they didn’t know, that they just delivered the pills, and that some guy named Arthur handled the prescriptions. They told me I’d be meeting Arthur today, probably. This made me anxious, and so I just quietly swallowed my pills and didn’t say anything.

We’re even watched when we shower, if you could call it a shower. Apparently, each morning, we’re taken into the courtyard, where we stand in front of a hose absolutely naked. They spray us with the hose, throw us a towel and a fresh pair of clothes (which, might I add, is nothing but a hospital gown and white pants), and moved on. I understand now why everyone stinks – I wouldn’t want to do that either. When I asked, I was told they don’t trust us in a bathtub, lest we drown ourselves, and the showers stopped working ages ago, and they never bothered to fix them.

The toilets aren’t any prettier – and if I had to guess, I’d say they hadn’t been cleaned in half a year. And when you go, you have to ask one of the guards, who will walk you to a single-stall unisex bathroom, unlock the door, and follow you in, just to make sure you don’t do anything funny in there. There was no soap in the dispenser, and when I asked for some, the guard (who wore a nametag that read “Percival”) just grunted and said there wasn’t any.

There still aren’t any clocks, but I did notice that all the guards, butlers, and maids wear watches, and that if you can glance just right, you can catch the time. I, unfortunately, wasn’t able to, though I tried relentlessly.

So if I’m getting this right, they don’t want us to be clean enough to be healthy, but they want us to be healthy enough to function normally. That….doesn’t seem like how it works. But what do I know? I’m apparently insane enough to end up in an asylum.

✿

They were right about meeting Arthur. After breakfast, Gwen came up to me and said, in her cheerful-but-slow voice, “Merlin, we’re going to see Dr. Arthur now. He’s going to help us put you on the right medications so we can cure you. Just follow me and Lance, and we’ll take you to him.” A dark-haired gorgeous man grabbed me by the arms and pulled me along as Gwen led me downstairs and to the left. We passed a large, grandfather clock that said it was eight O’clock.

We passed many doors with many names on them, but the most menacing was the one that read “Leeching Room”. I wanted to ask what that meant, but I felt as though they would ignore me, and kept quiet. When we finally reached a room labeled “Psychiatrist”, we stopped. Gwen knocked three times, and then opened the door. Lance shoved me inside, and closed the door before I could get out. I tried to bang on the door, but no one budged, and I was trapped.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” said someone behind me. I looked, and saw a handsome, young man with golden blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He couldn’t have been older than me, or at least I’d like to think. I assumed he was Arthur, as he was the only other one in the room. He looked smug and rich, wearing a waistcoat over a white collared shirt. I wanted to hate him, but he gave off the most neutral, undivided aura I’d ever felt. I like to think I could tell details about a person’s personality just by their aura. I believe it’s part of being a magic user, but what with the limited resources and experience, I wouldn’t know.

“You are…?” he asked, gesturing to me to introduce myself.

“Merlin,” I said boldly. “Merlin Emrys.”

“That’s a lovely name,” he told me with a smile. “I’m Arthur Pendragon. I’ll be your psychiatrist during your stay at the hospital.”

I felt the blood drain from my face as he introduced himself. “You mean, you’re Uther’s son?” I asked, though I already knew my answer.

“Yes,” he said, very proud and smug, “I am his only child, and I will one day inherit the hospital. But for now, I’m just a psychiatrist.”

“Will you make it suck less?” I asked.

“You just think it sucks because you’re a patient. All patients think the hospital they’re at sucks.”

“No,” I said longly, “This place pretty much sucks.”

“Oh? How?”

“Well, I was abducted from my home, stuffed in a van, brought here, stuffed in a room, stuffed in a different room, forced to take medication on multiple occasions, told I could either get naked in front of everyone or not take a bath, there was a hair in my soup this morning, and quite frankly, I just want to take a shit without a guard in the stall with me.”

Arthur frowned. “Well, it’ll have to get worse before it gets better. Just tough it out, and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

“But don’t you get it? I’m never going to leave, because I will always have magic. You can suppress me all you want, but I will be me, no matter what.”

“Merlin, we’re not trying to suppress you, we’re trying to cure you.”

“What’s the difference?”

Arthur got quiet. Without saying a word, he sat down at his desk, and gestured for me to sit down in the chair across from him. I obeyed, and sat down quietly.

“So tell me,” he said, “How long have you been a magic user?” I told him all my life. “Do you ever feel paranoid?” I told him of course I did, anyone would if they were a victimized minority. “Do you ever hear voices in your head?” I said no. “Do you ever experience terrible mood swings?” Doesn’t everyone, at least sometimes? That must’ve been funny, as it made him laugh. “True, true.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Merlin, I’m not the enemy, here. I don’t know what goes on in those rooms, I just know what goes on in here. But I’m here if you need me.”

It was then I decided he wasn’t an ass, though he was incredibly posh and annoying.


	3. Hospital Letter #3

✿

Hospital Letter #3

I would like to take this opportunity to emphasize; I am in a hospital with actual dangers to society. For a while, I began to think that I might be the only magic user here, that is, until I met Mordred last night.

I’m assuming Mordred must stay in Ward B, as I’ve never seen him before last night. In fact, I haven’t seen any magic users here in Ward A. From what I heard, everyone’s got a mental affliction aside from magic. What’s so special about me? Or do they actually think I’m mentally ill? I’ve never felt crazy a day in my life. Sure I’m eccentric, but I’m not crazy. Surely someone has to believe that. I’m depending on you, Reader, to believe that I am sane.

Anyway, back to Mordred. He’s an unbelievably small boy, with tiny hands and the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He can’t be older than thirteen, which terrifies me. A thirteen year old boy, here in an asylum?

I was lying in bed last night – the inmates I share a room with were kind enough to allow me a bed – when the door opened, and a small, round, childish face peeped in the room, and stared directly at me. I could hear this voice, which was less of a voice, and more of a thought, creep in my head. “Help me,” it said, “I need your help.”

“Who are you,” I said aloud, as quietly as I could, lest I wake up the other inmates. I don’t know why I thought this would be a problem, as they gave us so many pills it could put a bear to sleep, but it did, and it terrified me beyond anything I’d ever felt before.

“Help me, Emrys.”

I sat up, tossing off the sheet and looking at the boy. “What do you want?” I whispered. Mordred didn’t “say” anything, but gestured for me to follow him. Now, at this point, I was vaguely sure Mordred was a hallucination, but I got up anyway, unable to leave a small child in need. He took me by the hand and pulled me downstairs. I was afraid we were going to get caught, but he must’ve done this a hundred times, as he knew every twist and turn of the Asylum. We ended up the boiler room, where a man lay in a pool of his own blood on the floor. Mordred let go of my hand, and knelt down beside the man. “Help me,” he said in my thoughts again.

I knelt down beside him to investigate. The man had a gaping wound in his chest, done so expertly, I could only assume a surgeon had done this, and then left him for dead. “What do you want me to do?” I asked aloud.

“Help save my father,” he replied, still in my thoughts.

Now, I’ve never done any healing magic, except one time on a hamster, but it didn’t work. My mother said I’d be making him miserable if I let him live past his time. Ever since then, I’d been a firm believer in “times”. It was clear to me, it was this man’s time. Mordred must’ve heard me think this, as he told my thoughts, “It’s not his time.”

I looked over to him, and found him looking at me with tears in his eyes. I couldn’t do this, but I certainly couldn’t let this little boy’s father die in front of him without trying. So I searched for my magic, the little thing that made my cells bounce in place, the thing inside me that glowed in my soul. I had to search deep within myself, but once I had found it, weak and whimpering, I placed my hand on the man’s wound, and pushed it out through my fingertips.

There was a glow, and then the wound was slowly stitching and closing. It worked! I could hardly believe it. I was overfilled with joy, and confusion, and a whole bunch of other emotions I didn’t know existed. I had saved a man from dying. I had saved something.

Mordred touched his father’s cheek delicately. “Father,” he said aloud, “Are you alright?”

The man nodded, and closed his eyes. “I’m alright, Mordred, my son.”

Mordred then looked to me, and said something I’ll never forget.

“Us warlocks must stick together. You will soon find us, and when you do, you will then find purpose. Things will get worse before they get better, but I promise, they will get better. You must see this torture through, Emrys. They can take away our magic, but we are strong without it. They may outnumber us, but we are stronger than they could ever hope to be.”

✿

Today, I met Morgana Pendragon, daughter of Uther Pendragon, the founder of the Asylum. She was cute with a delicate face she dressed dangerously but pulled off well. She wore chic clothing with a gothic edge that made her look like a rebel. You could tell when she came in, because she was the only clean one around. Something tells me she wasn’t supposed to be up here, as she snuck around behind guards and whispered to everyone. When she saw me, she immediately raced over and said, “You! You’re Merlin Emrys?” I told her I was. “You’re nothing like I imagined. Oh! But in a good way! You’re very handsome, just my type.” She smiled. I asked who she was, and she got wide-eyed for a second. “I’m Morgana, Uther’s daughter. But don’t worry, I’m on your side. You see,” she leaned in very close and whispered quieter, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

My mouth fell open. “You want me in here?”

She shook her head, “No, no, no, nobody should be here. But you see, you’re the one who can set us free. Not yet, but soon. You will start the revolution.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’ll make sense when the time is right. At least, that’s what Mordred always says.”

“Can I help you?” I hissed.

“No, I just came to tell you, best safety lies in fear.” And with that, she turned, and left.

After she left, Gwen came up to me, a large man behind her as always. They said it was time to meet Uther, and I felt my stomach drop.

“It’s not so bad,” she told me, smiling brightly, “He’s really a nice person. Just think about all the extents he goes to to keep humanity safe from magic.”

They tried to take my downstairs, but I resisted. I pulled away and shook in their big hands, but this only made them angry. They shoved a needle in my arm, which horrified me, and I was out like a light.

I woke up who knows how much later. I was in the holding room, restrictions around my wrist and ankles. I struggled, which must’ve been amusing, as it made a man in the room laugh.

“Don’t struggle, it’ll only make it hurt worse.”

I froze, absolutely terrified. I felt as though I was going to die, here in the asylum, by the hands of a stranger bent on genocide. I looked around, but I could not see who was speaking to me. I cried out, “Who’s there? Come out—I’ll use my magic on you!”

“Good luck,” he said. “My son administers the best drugs around for magic users.”

“Uther?” I squeaked. Suddenly a cane came crashing down on my arm. I tried to recoil, but the restrictions held me still.

“I am Dr. Pendragon to your kind!” he hollered, and I began to tear up in fear.

I babbled, “Dr. Pendragon, Dr. Pendragon, alright, alright….”

I could now see Uther circling the room as he said, “Your kind are a disgrace to humanity. You should be destroyed.” When I didn’t say anything, he struck me with the cane again. “Speak up, you monster!”

“What do you want me to say!” I cried. But he smacked me again.

He was quiet for a moment, taking in deep breaths, as if he were exerting more energy than he had. Then, very calmly, he said, “We will unlock your secrets,” and left me alone in the room, restrained. What must’ve been hours passed before Gwen came back in, and placed another shot in my arm. It was clear to me now – I was labeled a danger, because I had resisted.

When I woke up, I was no longer in Ward A. Faces were all around me – all wise and dazed, as if they’d seen it all. It was clear to me, I’d been transferred to Ward B.


End file.
